


Four

by dragonspell



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times that Mickey Milkovich gets fucked.  </p><p>(If you're just looking for the Ian/Mickey, skip to chapter 4)(Trigger warnings: underage sex and dubious consent due to sex under the influence of drugs, but, hey, it's Shameless).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Cannibalizes part of episode 1x07 which I totally did not just watch in slow-mo.

The first time it happens, Mickey’s not exactly looking. He’s fifteen and standing in a dealer’s shithole, trying to buy a few hits of coke. He doesn’t even know the fuckhead’s name, just knows that he’s one of the cheaper vendors for this kind of shit and isn’t likely to try and steal a fucking kidney or something. The ceiling’s crumbling on top of them, waterstained and peeling, and the only furniture in the place is the chair that the dealer’s sitting in and a couch that Mickey has no intention of touching. Ever. There’s people scattered here and there, passed out on the floor or freaking out about spiders on their hands or some shit. Some woman’s getting fucked in another room, her muffled little moans and squeals acting like background music. It’s not exactly a welcoming place but it’s not like Mickey’s looking to turn it into a fucking summer home.

“You’re a little short,” the dealer says. He holds up the money that Mickey just gave him and Mickey bites his lip. Fuck. That had been all the cash that he’d had on him, too. Iggy had told him that it would be enough.

“How much?” Mickey asks. He’s not even getting it for himself. Dad’s getting out again and they’d thought that maybe he’d like a little something special this time. If they got the coke, Uncle Ronnie was sure to take first shift and Dad was always a little rough around the edges when he got his first taste of fresh air. His words came freer and so did his fists and his fucking swings with the bat if you pissed him off. Mickey wanted to take Mandy and fuck off for the night to let Dad party it on down and only come back when everyone was passed out and snoring. They’d say hello in the morning.

“Forty bucks.” 

Mickey checks his pockets real quick, like he might have forgotten something but he knows he ain’t going to find shit but lint and a fucking switchblade. “Fuck, man...” He waves a hand at the cash. “Look, I was told a buck twenty.”

The dealer shrugs. “Price went up. Overhead costs.” He grins, lines creasing the tattoo that’s running down his face. 

Mickey glances up at the ceiling. “I sure as fuck hope you don’t mean that overhead because I don’t think I’d pay for that shit.” Mickey jumps when the guy laughs and tries to cover by pretending he was just looking around.

“Nah. Shipping. Listen, kid, I could give you a little less… I mean, I’ve got people I’ve got to pay, too.”

Mickey looks at his shoes. They’re dirty and busted in, sole nearly peeling off, but they’d looked real slick when he’d stolen them out of a gym locker seven months ago. He can’t go back without enough for Dad and Uncle Ronnie and whoever else ends up coming over. 

“Maybe we could work something out.” When Mickey glances up, the guy’s giving him a look that Mickey doesn’t recognize. It makes his skin prickle.

Mickey’s thumb runs over his lip. It’s a nervous tick, he knows, but fuck all if he’s been able to do anything about it. “Like?”

The guy smiles and motions Mickey closer. Mickey curls his upper lip because like fuck he wants to get anywhere near this guy and his skuzzy chair. “Come on,” the dealer coaxes and Mickey finally takes a deep breath and steps forward into the guy’s space. The guy grabs Mickey’s belt loop and Mickey’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. It’s a bad idea to punch a drug dealer in his own crack house but Mickey’s considering it. His hands clench into fists that he holds at his sides. The guy notices and his grin grows a little wider as he pulls on Mickey’s belt loop, bringing him even closer. “Just a little deal.” Fingers slip under Mickey’s shirt and his stomach contracts away from the touch. Fuck. His skin’s starting to crawl. “Could be our little secret, whadaya say?”

“I say your faggoty ass is cruising for a beat down,” Mickey hisses because that’s what you’re supposed to say when a guy propositions you. Otherwise, you get punched. He learned that first thing when he turned twelve.

The guy shrugs and leans back. “Well, then, I guess we don’t have a deal. And you don’t have your coke.” He grabs Mickey’s cash and holds it out to him. “Guess you’ll have to find someone else.”

Dad’s going to be home in less than two hours and Mickey plans to be long fucking gone by then, sitting with Mandy on the L heading nowhere in particular. Iggy’s the one that’s going to welcome Dad home because he’s the one that, for whatever reason, Dad gives the least amount of shit to. Probably because Iggy’s so much like a puppy—loyal and kind of dumb—that you feel bad if you kick him. Mickey stares down at the money in the guy’s hand and sucks his lip back into his mouth. Okay, he thinks. Yeah, he can do this and maybe, if he’s really lucky, the dreams will stop too, the ones that Mickey doesn’t like to think about. Like scratching an itch, right?

Mickey pushes the cash away and grabs the guy’s other hand, sliding it back underneath his shirt and watching the guy’s face light up like it’s fucking pedo Christmas and Santa just left some jailbait under the tree. “Standing,” Mickey says, low in his throat so the rest of the room doesn’t know what he’s about to do. Not that he thinks they’re listening; the closest to them is a blonde that Mickey’s not sure is actually still breathing. “I ain’t laying on no fucking beds in this place. You use a condom, non-negotiable. No kissing and clothes stay on.”

The guy barks out a laugh. “You’re at least going to pull your pants down, right?” His hand glides over Mickey’s torso and reaches up to tease a nipple.

It’s…interesting. Mickey shifts on his feet as his dick perks up. He feels sick to his stomach. “If you shut up, maybe.”

The guy laughs again. He stands up and pockets the cash, then tilts his head at the back of the house and heads off, expecting Mickey to follow. The noisy girl in the background is still going at it and Mickey closes his eyes as his dick gets a little bigger in his pants. “Fuck.” This isn’t a good idea but he follows the guy anyway.

They end up in a room with a bed that’s got stains that Mickey doesn’t want to know about and a dirty curtain hanging in the window. “Here,” the guy says, handing him a spliff. “It’ll help you relax.” Mickey takes a few drags and the guy laughs, taking it back to set it in an ashtray. “Lean back.” He maneuvers Mickey against the wall then gets to his knees.

Mickey chokes. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting my money’s worth.” Mickey’s belt jingles as it’s loosened and his pants sag. The guy’s face to face with Mickey’s dick and there’s no way that he can pretend that Mickey’s a chick, not with Mickey standing there with half a fucking chub. The guy shoves down Mickey’s underwear and takes Mickey’s whole dick in his mouth. Mickey’s head hits the wall.

“Oh, fuck…” Mickey’s mouth drops open and his hands curl over his own chest. It’s not his first blowjob but it’s definitely the best. The guy’s done this before and it’s not long before Mickey’s rocking his hips and thinking that he’s about to come. The girl’s still in the background with her “yeah! Yeah! Yeah!” like she’s Mickey’s own personal porno.

A finger presses against Mickey’s ass, barely bothering to knock before it enters and Mickey surges upward. “Fuck!” Mickey’s fingers dig in to the guy’s shirt, hanging on or trying to climb him like a damn tree, Mickey’s not really sure. He’s starting to shake when the guy pulls off his dick. Mickey notes the loss of wet warmth just in time to feel a firecracker sizzle up his spine. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he gasps curling over the guy.

“Easy,” the guy says and, sure, yeah, like fucking right Mickey can take it easy when it feels like the Fourth of July is happening some place in his ass. “Guess you like that, huh?”

“Sh-shut the _fuck_ up,” Mickey stutters, then hisses when the guy stuffs another fucking finger up Mickey’s ass. Mickey bites his lip but it does nothing to stop the moan when the guy starts to fingerbang him. _Jesus_. The guy pumps his fingers in and out of Mickey’s ass and Mickey can’t do anything but squirm.

“Yeah,” the guy whispers and then Mickey’s empty and being spun around to face the wall. Mickey’s hips keep moving, still caught up in the feeling, and Mickey buries his head against his arms. A condom wrapper rattles behind him and hands coax him to bring his ass back.

The dick poking at his ass is definitely bigger than a few fingers and Mickey’s expecting pain and lots of it but all he gets is a little bit of weirdness like he’s taking a shit in reverse before the guy’s in him. “Tight,” the guy groans. “You’re so fucking tight.” He plasters himself to Mickey’s back and bangs his hips against Mickey’s ass, then holds it as he breathes out real slow. He does it again and again until it becomes a thing and the pauses in between go away. Mickey bites down on his own arm.

It’s weird and wrong and so goddamned good. Mickey fucking whimpers and runs his tongue over the skin of his forearm as the guy makes him take it. Fingers dig into his hips, holding him in place as he gets fucked and it’s a good thing because otherwise, Mickey thinks that he might be on the floor right about now. The dick inside of him keeps hitting something that makes his knees want to buckle like it’s found a goddamned g-spot.

Between the blowjob and the fucking and being fifteen fucking years old, Mickey has fuck all chances of not coming. He doesn’t even bother to wait, just shoves a hand between his legs and chokes the fucking life out of his dick. He comes with a muffled shout, adding another stain to the floor and his body shakes from his head to his toes.

“You come?” the guy asks. “You come? Christ, yeah, you came.” He keeps fucking Mickey, pushing him through the orgasm and into a loose, pliant mess. Mickey sags against the wall, letting physics keep him upright because his knees aren’t working quite right anymore. Guilt prickles his skin. He feels fucking dirty, too, because he can’t pretend that he didn’t like that. He’d been fucked by a drug dealer—still is, the guy’s dick working in and out of him—and he’d come harder than he ever had with a girl.

Sometime later, the guy finishes in his ass, dick throbbing inside the condom and Mickey stares at the marked-up wall that he’s been leaning against. The guy’s hips jerk a little more and then he pulls out, leaving Mickey feeling like he could shove Willis Tower up there. He hears the condom snap as the guy ties it and bends down to pull up his pants, transaction done.

Back out in the main room, nothing’s changed. The blonde apparently isn’t dead because she’s inching her way across the floor and some guy that wasn’t here before is passed out on the couch. The guy smiles at Mickey as he hands him a bag of coke. “Come back anytime,” he says. Mickey swallows. Fat fucking chance of that happening. Mickey’s never coming back to this place. He’s not a fag and he doesn’t care that he just splattered his DNA all over the wall in there. Fingers pull at Mickey’s waistband and he snarls, but the guy backs off with his hands wide and his grin even wider. “Buy yourself something nice,” he says. “And I meant it. Anytime.” He passes through a doorway behind him and disappears around a corner.

There’s a twenty sticking out of his waistband like he’s some kind of fucking stripper. Mickey wants to dump it on the come-stained floor but his hands shove it into his pocket. Fuck it. He’ll take Mandy out to see a movie tonight.

He gets home, throws Iggy the coke, and drags Mandy out of there telling her that they’ll say hi to Dad in the morning when he’s more likely to be sober. Not that he ever is.

When they get back home, Dad’s passed out on the couch and Uncle Ronnie’s on the floor. There’s also two guys and three chicks he doesn’t know spread out across the living room. Someone else had been in the yard when Iggy had waved them in. Joey’s in the kitchen, raiding the fridge, and Mickey sends Mandy off to bed, not leaving her door until he hears the lock click. In the relative safety of his own room, Mickey strips off his clothes. He knows that he should put on his sweats, just in case, but he stops for a moment.

He’s not gay. There’s some muscle-bound clodhopper that fills his dreams sometimes and Mickey can find his head being turned by a good pair of jeans hugging a guy’s hips but that doesn’t mean anything, right? It just means that he’s 15 and horny as fuck.

Mickey licks his lips. Horny as all fucking get out. He sucks two fingers into his mouth and lies down on the bed. His mouth drops open when he pushes them inside his ass and his eyes flutter closed. Just horny. He swallows back a moan.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Dubious consent due to sex under the influence of drugs.

The second time it happens, Mickey’s standing in another shithole, but it’s the Southside, so, like, half the buildings are shitholes. It’s not saying much. This one is in a little better shape than the last because at least Mickey’s reasonably certain that the ceiling’s not going to fall in on him. Joey’s in the corner talking with some chick that Mickey suspects is a hooker and Jamie and Tony are in the next room over making plans for tomorrow over a joint and a whole lot of booze. Mickey scratches his nose. He’s not sure what the fuck he’s doing here. He’s not doing the run with Jamie and Tony tomorrow and he sure as shit isn’t going to waste his money on a hooker.

He’s here because he was bored, probably. Business is slow right now, even for the innovative, school fucking sucks and there’s only so much X-Box Mickey can play by himself before he starts to realize what a loser he is. He could have jerked himself off, he supposed, but that was only good for a little while and it doesn’t seem to be doing much for Mickey right now unless he sticks a finger up his ass and that’s not fucking happening. He’s turning over a new leaf or some such shit. Trying to be a little less faggy for the sake of his face. He doesn’t need it to be rearranged.

Dad’s back in prison—lasted a whole five fucking months and Mickey’s starting to think that his dad likes it better in than out. Gotta be the way he’s been going lately. Dad had gone fourteen fucking years with only one stint in prison. Ever since Mom had died, though, he’d been going off the rails. Mickey kind of understands but he also kind of doesn’t. Mickey misses Mom too, but he doesn’t need to be locked up in some cage to stop him from burning down the city.

Mandy’s having a girls’ night, which would be another reason why Mickey was here. He didn’t want to wake up with shit in his hair or on his face and he wouldn’t put it past Mandy to try. Mandy’s friends are kind of terrified of him, but Mandy just rolls her eyes when he gets mad. She knows that he wouldn’t hit a girl and especially wouldn’t hit her.

Joey heads off down the hallway with his date for the next hour and Mickey raises his beer as Joey smiles at him. Good fucking luck. Joey will be lucky if his dick isn’t burning tomorrow.

Mickey leans against a wall and takes a swig. He should go. He looks more like a loser standing here by himself like he’s fucking wallpaper than he would wandering the streets. It’s fucking cold outside, though, and Mickey’s never been fond of freezing his nuts off. He eyes the assortment of drugs on the table in the center of the room. He supposes he could get fucked up. Tony’s here; he’d make sure that Mickey got home.

“Hey.” Mickey glances over to his right and then has to readjust as he only finds himself looking at a guy’s chest. His eyes go up, and up, and damn near to the fucking clouds because _Jesus fuck._

“How fucking tall are you?” There’s got to be a goddamned beanstalk planted outside or something.

The guy smiles, brilliant white against the dark black of his skin. “Kewanu,” he says, holding out a hand. Mickey looks at it for a little bit before the guy puts it away with a shrug.

Yeah, he’s a dick. “Mickey.” He takes a quick stock of the room and sees that nobody’s paying them any mind then brings his attention back to the guy next to him. Kewanu looks to be about Tony’s age, maybe a little older—old enough to drink without getting shit at the bar. He’s also taller than Mickey by at least a foot, with solid muscles trying to bust out of his yellow T. If Mickey were the type, he’d be kind of impressed. He’s not the type, though. Not a fucking fag.

The sooner he got that through his head, the happier he and his dick were going to be.

“You looked kind of bored over here.” Kewanu leans against the wall. He’s fucking looming over Mickey, but Mickey assumes that must be kind of hard for him to avoid seeing as how he’s ninety feet tall or some shit. Something hot and sharp uncurls in Mickey’s belly and he stomps on it until it dies back down.

“Did I.” Mickey takes a long pull off his beer. There’s a couple making out on the couch by the table with all the drugs. She’s sitting in his lap, her dark blue skirt sliding up her thighs and Mickey can see a hint of leopard print underneath.

“Thought you might like some company.”

Mickey drags his eyes back to Kewanu, having to crane his neck to do it. He doesn’t know who this guy is or who he _thinks_ he is, but he’s talking to Mickey fucking Milkovich. “I’m just waiting for my brothers to finish their fucking chat.”

Kewanu looks at the doorway that Tony and Jamie disappeared into a while ago and then back down at Mickey. “They and Wallace got a lot to talk about. And your other brother, he’s probably going to be awhile, too.” He points his chin at the hallway and chuckles.

Fucking true enough. Mickey’s going to be lucky if they’re ready to go before midnight. He finishes his beer and dangles the bottle from his fingers. He could probably drop it on the floor and no one would give a shit but he’s holding on to it for awhile. Just in case. His eyes flit back to Kewanu who’s still fucking looming over him.

“I’ve got better stuff in the back, if you’re interested,” Kewanu says. It’s neutral enough and Mickey studies him, looking for a crack. Kewanu raises an eyebrow and Mickey looks away. The couple on the couch is getting hot and heavy and Mickey gets a peek of dick.

“What the fuck ever,” Mickey replies and drops the bottle to the floor. He doesn’t know if Kewanu’s really offering him drugs or a beating but either way Mickey’s going to get fucked up and it’s going to be better than watching the junkie porno unfolding in front of him.

Kewanu smiles again and leads Mickey to another room. He wasn’t fucking lying, either, because he’s got a whole fucking dresser full of shit and a mini-fridge. Mickey takes the beer that Kewanu gives him and looks around awkwardly before finally sitting on the bed. The sheets look relatively clean and they don’t obviously smell so Mickey’s going to take his chances. The bed takes up most of the room, leaving only a little space for the dresser and fridge, a nightstand and what Mickey is assuming is a closet. The window looks big enough for him to jump out of if he had to, but it’s covered with a sheet so he’s not sure what’s on the other side.

The overhead light flicks off and Mickey jumps to his feet, skin prickling when Kewanu chuckles. The lamp beside the bed turns on and Kewanu grins at him. “The light hurts my eyes when I’m high.” He hands a lit joint to Mickey and waits for Mickey to take a drag.

Mickey slowly exhales and takes another, feeling it started to wrap around his limbs. It’s better shit than he’s smoked in awhile. He sits back on the bed and hands the joint over to Kewanu again, watching it slide between his lips before looking away.

“Heard your brother got pinched.” Kewanu hands the joint back to Mickey.

Mickey shrugged. “He was being stupid.” It didn’t look like this one was going to be just an overnight stay like the others. Iggy had a lawyer and everything.

“I got a brother on the inside. Been there for two years.” Mickey took another long drag. “Armed robbery. He was being stupid, too.” The bed dips beneath Kewanu as he slides his big body onto it. He sits against the head board as they pass the shit back and forth between them.

“Got some coke if you’re interested,” Kewanu offers after awhile. Mickey shakes his head, not wanting to move from where he’s stretched out on the bed; he kind of likes how his body is feeling loose and light, like it’s the smoke that he’s exhaling. Coke picks him up and kicks his ass.

“Nah, man.” He smoothes down an eyebrow. “Think I’m good. Don’t want to be running out and punching people in the face and shit.” The last time he’d done a line, he’d ended up in a street-wide brawl. He knew that he’d won, but it sure as shit hadn’t felt like it in the morning.

“Mmm.” Kewanu smiles at him and Mickey kind of likes that, too. “Hey, I’ve got something that you’ll like.” He leans over and rifles through the nightstand.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kewanu holds up a little baggie and puts a pill in Mickey’s hand. It’s small and blue and Mickey’s not sure he should be popping it into his mouth. “Nothing bad,” Kewanu says. “It’ll just make you feel good.” He takes one himself and swallows it down. “See?”

Mickey shrugs. “If I wake up missing a kidney, I’m coming after your giant ass.” He pops it in his mouth and chases it with a swig of beer. He lies back down and lets Kewanu take the beer from him and drain it. He’s feeling a little like he’s floating and supposes that it’s not a bad way to spend the night. Kewanu’s eyes sweep down Mickey’s body, from where Mickey’s got his hands behind his head up on the pillows to down where his ankles are crossed and that little bit of heat stirs in Mickey’s belly again. Mickey licks his lips and looks away.

“I’ll get you another,” Kewanu says and the bed shifts as he gets up. Mickey stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out if there’s a pattern to the rough texture of the paint or if he just thinks that there should be. The beer hisses as it pops open and then Kewanu’s back, pressing the cold can into Mickey’s hand. Mickey takes a drink and hands it back, watching as Kewanu drinks from the same can, his neck working as he swallows. Absently, Mickey traces a hand up and down his chest. It kind of feels like someone else is touching him and it makes the heat inside him grow.

They spend some more time sitting in silence. It’s almost kind of enjoyable. There’s a heaviness growing in Mickey groin but he’s not worried about it, too busy hovering just above the bed like he’s a cloud. Kewanu keeps giving him looks, eyes raking up and down Mickey, and Mickey’s feeling kind of warm from the heat.

Mickey spreads his legs, giving himself a little bit of room and Kewanu’s big body pins him to the bed. Mickey blinks, wondering when that happened, but he doesn’t care enough to give a shit. Kewanu feels big and solid above him, like a barrier between Mickey and the rest of the world. Mickey smiles. Yeah. He kind of likes it.

Lips press against his, soft and pliable as they explore and Mickey lets himself go with it because it feels nice. He likes feeling nice. The mouth on his isn’t demanding, just merely asking and Mickey kisses back because he likes how gentle it is. His hands trace a jaw line, feeling it move as the lips do, and Mickey hovers there, lying in the cloud. Big arms come around him, making sure he doesn’t float away and keeping him safe.

Something digs at his brain, knocking insistently until Mickey finally follows the thought back. There’s something about this. Something that he should remember. Mmm. Right. Mickey shoves at Kewanu. “No,” he says and Kewanu takes his nice lips away from Mickey’s. Mickey follows him up only to fall back down when his head spins.

“No?” Kewanu asks. His pupils are blown.

Mickey licks his lips, chasing the taste of the other mouth. “No kissing.” His hands spread across Kewanu’s chest, pushing at the muscle.

“Okay.” A hand slides down Mickey’s body and slips into his pants, easily popping the button and pushing down the zipper. It grabs his cock and Mickey arches into the touch with a soft moan. His eyes close. “This okay?”

Mickey nods as the hand moves, gliding over his cock and doing wonderful things to his insides. A wet tongue licks at his neck and Mickey tilts his head back to give it more room. It’s technically not kissing and it feels so good he doesn’t want it to stop. 

Mickey pushes his hands under Kewanu’s shirt, feeling his broad back. Kewanu’s solid and big and Mickey wants to stay under him forever, just as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing. Kewanu sits up and Mickey whines, twisting on the bed. He tries to sit up too, but the world tilts sideways and sends him tumbling back to the bed.

His pants slide off his legs and Mickey helps them run away, kicking them down, and his underwear too. He spreads his legs and lets his hands dip between them because his dick is twitching like a live wire and his ass wants to be filled.

“Aw, you are flying high, ain’t you?” Kewanu rumbles and he comes back down within Mickey’s reach. He slides into place between Mickey’s legs, his cock rubbing against Mickey’s. It’s nearly twice the size of Mickey’s dick, thick and black against Mickey’s skin. Mickey runs a hand along it, wanting to know how it feels and Kewanu groans above him. “Yeah, like that.” Mickey flicks his eyes up to Kewanu’s face.

Kewanu’s nostrils flare as Mickey touches him again. Mickey rubs his palm over the head of Kewanu’s dick, feeling the slick against his skin and through the fog comes another long range thought. He wants it. He fucking wants it and he’s going to have it.

Mickey grabs one of Kewanu’s hands and drags it up to his mouth, sucking two fingers in and laving them with his tongue. “ _Damn,_ boy…” Mickey smiles. He likes how torn up Kewanu sounds, like Mickey’s driving him crazy. Kewanu gently moves his fingers in and out of Mickey’s mouth and Mickey gets a little lost in the sensation of the fingers moving over his lips. His dick twitches, reminding him that there’s other things needing to be filled than just his mouth and he spits Kewanu’s fingers out. He pushes them downward, needing to be touched. “Yeah, I got you,” Kewanu slurs, his fingers trailing over Mickey’s dick, but Mickey shoves him down further and bites his lip as he looks back up at Kewanu’s face. A shudder races up his spine, making his cloud shake and the world spin. Kewanu rubs a finger over Mickey’s hole and it’s so close to what Mickey wants that he moans again and lifts his hips. There’s another thought in the back of his head, something about how he shouldn’t want this, that it was wrong, but Mickey ignores it. Something that feels this good couldn’t be wrong. “You want that?” Kewanu asks. His voice is rough and it’s twisting through Mickey’s guts, making him shivery and hard. “Yeah, you want that?” Kewanu’s hips pulse, thrusting his dick over Mickey’s belly.

Mickey coaxes one of the fingers inside of him, his eyes squeezing shut. It’s better than when Mickey does it himself and he’s already hovering on the edge, ready to bust a nut because he’s got a guy’s finger up his ass. The world keeps spinning around him and there’s nothing but color beyond him and Kewanu

In another life, he knows that he might be saying no right now, but Mickey’s logic function is shut down and he just wants more. “Up,” he says, his voice sounding drunk and breathy. “Push up.” The finger does and Mickey reels. “Oh, _fuck_ …”

“God, you are the hottest fucking thing—”

Mickey grips Kewanu’s hair, his eyes fluttering open because this is important. This is so damn important that Mickey’s going to die if Kewanu doesn’t do this for him. “Get your dick in me,” he rasps.

“Oh, yes fucking sir,” Kewanu replies instantly like he understands but then he leans away, slipping off of Mickey’s cloud. Mickey groans and tries to hold him in place but his arms feel like cooked spaghetti, all floppy and useless. The nightstand drawer rattles again and Kewanu comes back a few seconds later with a condom in his teeth and popping open a bottle of gel. He shoves Mickey’s leg up and smears the goop against Mickey’s hole as Mickey squirms.

“Fuck me already,” Mickey whispers. He feels kind of dirty talking like that but he also kind of likes it. He feels like he’s about to explode, splatter all over the walls and dribble down through the cloud he’s been hovering on. It’s been so long since he’s done this and he doesn’t know why he’s held off for so long. Five months feels like forever because it didn’t matter how many times Mickey jerked off or how many girls he fucked, this is what he’d wanted. He fucking needs it. 

“I got you,” Kewanu says. “I got you. Just give me a minute—” He rips open the condom with his teeth and his free hand, because his other is still twisting around inside of Mickey. “Gotta make sure you’re ready, you know? God, you’re hot. You’re so fucking hot—” Kewanu takes his finger out and Mickey rolls himself up onto his side and totters his way onto his knees. He flops back down on the bed, ass up. Kewanu’s breath rattles as a hand trails over Mickey’s hip. “Okay. Okay…”

The first press of the tip has Mickey’s eyes closing again. Mickey forces his breathing steady and relaxes back into the push. It kind of feels like there’s a baseball bat trying to force its way inside of him, but at the moment, Mickey doesn’t care. It’s what he wants. Kewanu gave him some good shit and he’s kind of patient, so that’s good enough in Mickey’s book.

Kewanu’s big—bigger than anything Mickey’s ever put up there, that’s for sure, and he stretches Mickey like a rubber band that’s about to snap. Mickey moans and mouths at his arms. The alcohol and the weed and whatever the fuck Kewanu gave him is mixing up inside of him with the need and the want. A full fucking SWAT team could come running into the room right now and Mickey doesn’t think he’d notice. He’s too hung up on the slow slide of Kewanu’s too big of a cock pushing its way into him. Behind him, Kewanu’s babbling but Mickey can’t understand him so he lets him become background noise, like fucking elevator music.

The tip pushes in, followed by inches and inches more of shaft and Mickey wiggles backward, trying to get it all inside of him. It slides against his prostate and past, heading towards his fucking throat. Mickey whines and doesn’t even care. It feels so fucking good, just a little knife-edge of pain, and he wants more.

Kewanu bottoms out, his hips against Mickey’s ass. Mickey rubs his lips against the top of his arm then moves his hips in a slow circle, making Kewanu swear and sparks shoot up his spine. He does it again and again until Kewanu starts thrusting, his big dick pumping in and out of Mickey and making him want to scream. Mickey bites his lip and claws at the bedsheets.

Kewanu fucks him good, but his dick is just a little too big and he’s just a little too gentle, leaving Mickey hovering on the edge. Kewanu brushes against his prostate, making him feel like he’s about to come but then he slides back down when it takes Kewanu forever to hit it again. 

“Fuck,” Mickey hisses. “Go faster.” It’s agonizingly slow and Mickey’s going to die of old age before he comes. Or at least lose the high and right now, he doesn’t know which is worse.

“You’re going to be walking funny when you leave here,” Kewanu warns him but Mickey shrugs so he curls over Mickey’s back. He licks at Mickey’s neck again, grazing his teeth over the skin. Mickey wants to tell him that it’s okay, that Mickey already walks a little funny, but then Kewanu starts slamming into him and tears gather at the corners of Mickey’s eyes.

“ _Fuck._ ” At this pace, pain’s cutting through the pleasure but it gets all tangled up until Mickey’s not even sure which is which anymore. He fumbles for his cock, finding it still hard between his legs.

With Kewanu driving into him, it only takes a few pulls before Mickey’s coming his brains out, soaking the sheets as he shudders. Kewanu keeps going, feeling like a fucking L train screaming through him and Mickey grits his teeth and forces himself to relax again, the fucking cocktail of drugs in his system roiling through him.

Kewanu shoves in hard enough to force Mickey forward then stays there, his cock throbbing in Mickey’s ass. When he pulls out, it nearly feels like Mickey’s ass goes with him and the strings that had been holding Mickey up snap. He flops onto his side and rolls onto his back. He hisses and spreads his legs as his ass twinges. It feels like he got fucked by a goddamned horse. 

There’s a thud that Mickey assumes is the condom hitting the trash can, then Kewanu lies down next to him, fingers stroking over Mickey’s side and across his chest. It’s soothing and Mickey feels his heart slowing down. He sighs and closes his eyes.

* * *

Mickey wakes up to the sound of Tony yelling his name. He swears and dives off the bed, looking for his pants. He doesn’t know what time it is or how long he was out, but he does know that his ass feels like it got visited by a fucking Peterbilt. There’s a black guy still on the bed and Mickey’s foggy brain provides a name. Kewana or something. Kewandi? Kewanu. Right. 

He hisses as he bends over, his ass aching at the stretch, but forces himself to yank on his pants. He’s got to piss so fucking bad, but it’s just going to have to wait. He needs to get out of here before Tony comes looking for him. The drugs are on their way out and so is the thought that sleeping with a guy would be a good idea. Behind him, Kewanu sits up in bed, watching him. “Told you that you were going to be walking funny.”

“Yeah,” Mickey shoots back. “That’s great. Fucking terrific.” Tony yells again and Mickey scrubs a hand through his hair. He hopes that it looks a bit like it did when he’d first arrived otherwise he’s going to have to come up with a plausible lie.

“Hey,” Kewanu says as Mickey starts to leave.

Mickey whirls on him. “What?” he snarls. “You want a fucking goodbye kiss or something?”

Kewanu grins, not concerned at all about the fact that Mickey’s about two seconds from taking his head off. “Your phone.” He points at the floor where Mickey’s phone had fallen out of his pocket and Mickey snatches it up.

Mickey heads for the door, but pauses with his hand on the knob. He looks back over his shoulder. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll smash your skull in with a baseball bat.”

Kewanu laughs, lighting a cigarette. “Same,” he says.

Mickey nods, glad that they seem to be in agreement and bolts. If his brothers happen to think that he’s walking funny, they thankfully keep their mouths shut. Mickey’s ass aches the entire way home.


	3. Three

The third time it happens, Mickey’s tucked back in an alley behind some bar that he’s never going to visit again and he’s trying to keep his face out of the bricks. Mickey doesn’t know the guy’s name or what he does or if he has a fucking wife back home and he doesn’t care. The guy’s behind him, breathing like a steam engine as he pumps into Mickey hard and fast. It’s just what Mickey wants, but, then again it isn’t.

The guy’s about Mickey’s size with blond hair and he’d smelled relatively decent. He looked like someone that Mickey could take in a fight—with both fucking arms behind his back. The guy’s not his “type” but Mickey’s not supposed to have a type so he hadn’t been picky. He’d gone with the first guy that had made eye contact. He’d stepped outside with the guy following him like a puppy and shoved a condom at the guy when he tried to talk. Then he’d turned around because he’d been ready for this the moment he got here. There’s only one reason why Mickey’s in this shitty neighborhood, at this shitty bar and it certainly isn’t because he likes the ambiance. The guy’s a little shorter than Mickey would like and his cock only seems to hit the right spot on accident but at least he hasn’t bothered to ask any stupid questions. He’d gotten right down to it after Mickey turned around and stuck his ass out, opening his pants and sticking his dick where Mickey wanted it.

So the guy’s not exactly turning Mickey’s crank. That’s okay. It’s still a dick in his ass, right? What the fuck did he care how it came? He should consider himself lucky that it didn’t come with a fist in his face.

Mickey rests his forehead against his arm and jacks himself with his right hand. He’s going to fucking come and then he’s going to be done—no more fucking guys, no more looking at guys, no more wondering what it would feel like if so and so would fuck him. Mickey’s not a goddamned fag. He’s just got an itch that he’s got to scratch and then he’ll be fucking _fine_. No one needs to know about this at all.

The guy comes before Mickey’s ready, starts humping Mickey’s ass wildly like a dog and whining, then he slides out. _Fuck_ , Mickey thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He looks back at the guy over his shoulder. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Mickey says because, Jesus, that was, like, three minutes, tops. And Mickey didn’t even get to come.

The guy shrugs. “Sorry,” he says but he’s not exactly offering to go down on his knees or anything and that’s just fucking great. Mickey yanks up his jeans, wincing as he has to tuck his hard-on back into his underwear. The guy just stands there like a queer, watching Mickey and Mickey snarls at him. “What the fuck are you waiting for? Get the fuck out of here!” The guy blanches and runs back to the bar.

Mickey rides the L home and tries not to think because the only thing on his mind right now is how much of a fuck-up he is.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for episode 1x07.

The fourth time it happens, Mickey wakes up with a tire iron in his back. Mickey jerks awake from the same damn dream he’s been having for awhile now, full of red hair and soft lips and a cock that fills him up. He’s been having it ever since Mandy randomly decided that she didn’t hate Ian Gallagher anymore and started to date him, bringing him home and shit. Mickey needs to go out and get fucked—find some guy that will last longer than three goddamned minutes—because otherwise he’s bound to do something crazy. He’s caught himself checking out Ian’s junk more than once and even he knows that that was crossing a line. He’s not a goddamned fag and he’s certainly not a goddamned fag for his sister’s boyfriend.

Mickey rolls over and squints when he finds the man of the goddamned hour, Ian fucking Gallagher, standing over him, demanding the gun that Mickey took from the towel headed pussy at the piece of shit store that Gallagher works at. Mickey has to rub his eyes just to make sure that he’s not seeing things because Gallagher’s been running through his dreams so much, how is Mickey supposed to be able to tell if he’s real or not first fucking thing in the morning? Gallagher’s looking kind of good, all tall and looming despite the fact that he looks like he’d break after one good punch. Mickey’s head is still a bit fuzzy from the raging party that they’d had last night, too, because Dad is back home from prison again. Fucking Christ. 

Thing is, Mandy’s boyfriend is a dumb motherfucker. And he’s going to be lucky if Mickey doesn’t make him a dead motherfucker because nobody goes in Mickey’s room without his say so. Least, that’s what Mickey thinks until Gallagher starts judo-throwing him around like a goddamned ninja. He’s a skinny little shit but Jesus is he strong. Mickey crashes into the wall and has to come back swinging and it’s sick, but Mickey’s turned on. Too much fucking thinking and not enough wanking, that’s the problem.

Mickey gets the upper hand by being just a little bit more vicious and he pins Gallagher to the bed, set to teach him a lesson about waking people up, but once he’s got him there, Mickey can’t do it. The kid’s all shoved up in Mickey’s crotch, eyes squeezed shut and waiting to be hit, and Mickey can’t fucking do it.

Then the kid looks at him. _Just fucking looks at him_ , all breathless and shit, his mouth open and that fucking red hair all messed up and Mickey’s hard. And Gallagher glances at it and back up at Mickey and he’s totally fucking cool with it. Still scared and a little freaked out but totally fucking cool that Mickey’s dick is hard and in his face. It’s been so goddamned long that Mickey loses his fucking mind. 

“Yeah,” Mickey breathes and starts ripping off his shirt, backing up so Gallagher can do the same, except the kid’s too goddamned slow, still working on his shirt when Mickey’s ready to strip off his pants, so Mickey starts ripping Gallagher’s clothes off too because Gallagher’s wearing seventy fucking shirts right now and Mickey needs to touch skin. 

When the shirts are finally on the floor, Mickey stares at Gallagher’s chest as he pulls at his sweats ‘cause it’s just like the dream that Gallagher had woken him up from. Jesus Christ. Mickey’s going fucking crazy. Gallagher shoves him back on the bed, still wearing his fucking gloves, and yanks Mickey’s sweats off of him, tugging them down with hard jerks until Mickey finally kicks them off the rest of the way. They’re both panting like dogs in heat when Gallagher goes for Mickey’s boxers. Gallagher shoves a hand down them, glove and all, and it’s weird and kind of rough but that doesn’t stop Mickey from shoving his dick into Gallagher’s greedy grip. The glove scrapes over Mickey’s skin and he hisses, reaching down to strip both of them off Gallagher’s hands one by one. When Gallagher gets a hand free, he dives right back into Mickey’s shorts like he can’t get enough and it’s enough to make Mickey’s hips buck forward.

It’s Mickey that has to pull down his boxers because Gallagher seems fine with just feeling him up but Mickey needs to move on to the main attraction because his ass needs to be filled as in yesterday. Gallagher stops and stares at Mickey’s dick, his tongue touching his lip like he wants to suck it and it’s a thought that Mickey stores away for another time when he’s not so desperate to get good and fucked.

Mickey yanks Gallagher’s pants down and gets a good handful of ass, using it to drag him forward. Gallagher shoves his jeans down the rest of the way and climbs onto the bed with Mickey. Gallagher’s dick bobs in front of Mickey, thick and full, and Mickey licks his lips. He’s going to enjoy this so fucking much. It’s not the biggest he’s seen but he thinks it’s plenty big enough. Mickey flips over onto his stomach while Gallagher lies on top of him, all heat and muscle and Mickey’s going to bust his nut before they even get started. Gallagher’s dick rides Mickey’s ass and, yeah, he’s big enough. He’s plenty fucking big enough.

Mickey fumbles for the bottle he keeps hidden in his headboard, appropriately manly but slick enough for anything. He spills it everywhere, gobbing it on his hand and pillow and sheets but not giving a fuck because a second later, he’s got his fingers in his ass, twisting them around because soon there’s going to be a dick in there instead. Gallagher whispers a “Holy fucking shit,” and starts digging in Mickey’s headboard, flinging crap left and right. Mickey shoves Gallagher’s hand over to where he’s stashed a few condoms and Gallagher rips the entire package in two trying to get one open. The rubber falls out and bounces down Mickey’s pillow and, Christ, Mickey’s going to fucking come just from the goddamned foreplay. Mickey snatches the condom up and thrusts it back at Gallagher who rolls it onto his big dick just in time for Mickey to grab and drag Gallagher forward with it. It fits nicely in Mickey’s hand, not fucking huge but not tiny either and Mickey’s feeling like fucking Goldilocks at how eager he is to have it inside him.

Mickey braces himself against the wall above the headboard and Gallagher gets with the program pretty damn fast so Mickey guesses he’s not as dumb as Mickey thought. Mickey pushes his ass back against Gallagher’s initial press and the head of his dick pops inside. It’s so fucking good that Mickey has to bite his lip to stop from moaning and Gallagher just slides himself right up in there like he was born to it.

The kid’s either a natural or he’s fucked some ass before because it doesn’t take him long before he’s pumping in and out of Mickey like a goddamned piston, his dick right where it needs to be to make Mickey see stars.

It’s fucking perfect, Mickey thinks, so fucking perfect and Mickey doesn’t think he’s going to last worth shit. The headboard’s banging against the wall and if there’s someone in the house, they’re going to fucking know but Mickey can’t bring himself to care. They hadn’t come running when Gallagher had thrown him into the goddamned wall, so they better stay away while Gallagher fucks him into another. Gallagher’s hands are tight on Mickey’s hips, his knees keeping Mickey’s spread as his balls bang against Mickey’s ass and Mickey’s just fucking gone. He grabs his cock and gives it a few hard tugs because that’s all he needs right now.

Mickey comes, biting the corner of his lip so hard he bleeds. “Oh shit,” Gallagher whispers. “Oh shit, oh shit.” He keeps pounding into Mickey, feeling bigger than before and a few seconds later he’s coming, wrapping his arms around Mickey like a kinky octopus while his mouth presses against Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey’s too busy trying to breathe right that he doesn’t say shit. He’s not going to admit to it either, but he kind of likes it.

Gallagher pulls out and Mickey’s lips form an O because even though he’s fucked out, it still feels good. His lip tingles where he bit it and Mickey touches his tongue to it. Fuck. Well, there’s that. He flops down on the bed, feeling the slick and the pleasant stretch of his ass. He’s not particularly in the mood to go anywhere. Gallagher, though, he crawls into bed beside Mickey and pulls the blanket up over top of them. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask Gallagher what the fuck he thinks that he’s doing but the buzz is so nice that Mickey just decides to say fuck it. As long as Gallagher doesn’t try to snuggle or kiss him or some such shit, Mickey supposes that they can share the bed for a little bit.

The bed barely fits the both of them, forcing them to have their sides pressed up against each other but Mickey lets it go and closes his eyes. Gallagher doesn’t say a word, just breathes next to Mickey and it’s—Mickey would shoot Gallagher if he said it out loud— it’s kind of nice.

For the first time in his life, Mickey is starting to toss around the idea of a second round. Gallagher seems to know what to do with his dick and it’s not like he wasn’t uninvolved just a little while ago. Mickey’s never had a second round. He’s never wanted one. Gallagher, though, he’s different somehow. 

It’s a load of crap and Mickey tells himself that. He’s just fucking horny as shit because it’s been so damn long since he’s been able to get off. It doesn’t feel as good if there’s not something in his ass and that’s all there is to it. Mickey looks over at Gallagher and finds the kid looking right back at him. It’s enough to make Mickey pop a little wood and he reaches down to touch it, unable to help himself. Gallagher follows the motion and then looks back at Mickey with heat in his eyes. That’s all it is, right? Gallagher’s here, convenient, hot, and evidently up for it, so of course Mickey wants to go again. Fucking simple as that. Gallagher starts to slide over and Mickey licks his lips. He’s going to enjoy the fuck out of this.

Of course, then his dad barges in to take a piss and Mickey’s blood gets replaced by ice water. _Christ_ , what the hell had he been thinking? Both he and Gallagher are going to fucking die because Mickey’s a sick fuck who craves dick. Not that Gallagher had been protesting, but Jesus. Mickey should have kicked his redheaded ass out the moment that Mickey realized that he wasn’t going to beat it with a tire iron. He glances over at Gallagher again and wonders if he could get Gallagher out of this alive because while Mickey knows precisely jack and shit about Ian Gallagher besides how good he apparently is with his dick, he knows that Mandy likes him and that the kid is way too fucking nice to die in a place like this. Maybe Mickey can take the beating while Gallagher runs. Mickey’s dad might end up killing Mickey but there was a chance of Mickey coming out of the other side of a beating alive. Not so much for Gallagher. Thing is, Mickey’s too fucking scared to even move.

His dad does shit, though. Just tells them to put some clothes on because they look like fags, never dreaming that they kind of, maybe, sort of _are_ fags, and walks back out of the room. 

Mickey’s got to relearn how to breathe again. He glances over at Gallagher’s terrified face, sees him breathe a sigh of relief and then lets himself follow suit, though his heart’s still beating like a jackhammer.

Jesus fucking Christ.

It’s the end of any plans Mickey might have had. He gets up and grabs his pants then heads to the bathroom to scrub out the goop between his ass cheeks. He also grabs the gun because, fuck, the kid had come all this way, hadn’t he? Even Mickey had to admit that it took fucking guts to walk into the Milkovich house, especially only being armed with a tire iron.

Afterwards, Gallagher goes to kiss him, thinking that this means something or some shit and Mickey turns away because, yeah, okay, he likes it up the ass but he’s not a goddamned _fag_ , alright? “Kiss me and I’ll cut your fucking tongue out,” he says and heads out to the kitchen. He feels Gallagher’s eyes on him all the way out of the room. Mickey shrugs and goes to eat eggs with his dad like nothing fucking happened.

* * *

The fifth time it happens, it’s kind of a first because Mickey’s never been with the same guy before. He’s never wanted to. Mickey’s never met anyone like Gallagher before, though and Mickey would bite his own tongue off before he’d say it but he’s kind of a little fascinated by Ian Gallagher. There’s nobody that should be quite that sweet living in on the Southside, smiling and shit when people come around like they’re special or something. Mickey tells himself that it’s just that Gallagher knows how to give it so fucking good that Mickey can’t help but keep coming back. The kid’s also not likely to blab and he hasn't pushed Mickey away yet. Really, that’s about as good as it gets for Mickey.

It’s not a relationship or anything. It’s just… What had Ian called it? Yeah. “Booty calls.” Mickey’s booty seems to be doing a lot of fucking calling but as long as Ian keeps answering and sticking with the plan then Mickey doesn’t have a problem with it. 

After the sixth time, Mickey stops counting.


End file.
